


The Unfinished Tin Soldier

by Venstar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a tin soldier AU  UH THAT'S NOT FINISHED I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT AO3 IS SMOKING TO SELECT IT AS COMPLETE.  DING BAT.  DING.  BAT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unfinished Tin Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> i started this and haven't finished it, it's not at the top of my to-do list, but i keep pecking away at it.

Once upon a time, very long ago, a strange thing happened on a cold Christmas day to a brave toy soldier. The day was cold, crisp and new. Freshly fallen snow was sparkling on the ground, sleigh bells could be heard throughout the village and greetings were called out. The stockings that had hung by the chimney with care were now empty and bare. Presents were open to children's delight and festivities were carried on throughout the town. But out story begins in a small neat home at 221B Baker Street, London. The youngest son of the house had received a small company of toy soldiers set in a wooden box, each resting in their own slot. Their coats were red, their pants gleaming white, hats and both their boots were black. They had rosy cheeks, dark brown hair and stood at attention with their rifles, ramrod straight. All except for one. The soldier at the end of the set was slightly smaller and his hair not as dark and his uniform was faded. A piece of his leg below the knee was missing. “Broken!” said the little boy as he turned the small soldier over in his hands.  
“Such a shame. He must have been the last one made,” said his father. “They are a splendid looking company though. Perhaps he'll be able to stand for muster?”  
The little boy smiled and eagerly began to line his new toy soldiers up and placed the littlest one at the end. His smile faded as the one legged soldier kept falling over. “Sometimes that happens,” his father said to him, “A soldier goes off to war and he comes home injured.” Father gently picked up the small soldier, cradled him in his hands and showed him to his son, “He must have been very brave to have sustained an injury like that and managed to come home. Do you remember Dr. Watson's oldest son, John?” The little boy nodded and held his hand out for the small soldier. “He came home from the war without all of himself. I remember,” he said. “What a brave soldier. Welcome home from the war Captain John! Here, you rest, I'll take your company out for a march!” With that, the little boy placed the little soldier back into his slot in the wooden box and ran off to play with the other toy soldiers. Left behind, the small soldier sighed. Nobody wanted to play with a broken soldier.  
The toy soldier could hear the children playing with their Christmas toys, he could hear his fellow soldiers charging down the dining room table to rescue the dolls. They would come back with great stories and heroic deeds The small soldier rolled over and curled himself into a ball and stared glumly at where his left leg should have been, below his knee. He reached a hand out and brushed the empty air. His leg was gone, left unfinished from when they cast the molds. He turned and looked out of his box up into the room that he had been left in, a Christmas tree, brightly decorated stood above him. He could see his reflection in a large red ornament. He blinked, his was not the only reflection he could see. He turned his head to look at the graceful porcelain figurine on the side table above him. He dressed in an old fashioned grey coat and matching pantaloons with bright blue shoes. He was leaning against a column with a mournful look upon his face. A mass of dark intricately painted curly hair was tied back in a queue. Over his heart, was a noticeable crack, spider webbing out. The soldier was curious about how the beautiful figurine came to sustain such damage, for the figure should have shattered with such a blow. He looked back to his leg and then to the figurine, he would like to meet this stranger.  
Evening had fallen, the firelight flickering in the room. The youngest son had come back with the rest of John's company and settled them in their spots. As soon as the children and adults had shuttered the lamps, banked the fire and settled into their rooms for the night, the merry company if soldiers began to whisper about the heroic deeds and great battles fought. They admired each other's tin foil medals that the daughters of the house had bestowed upon them for saving their dolls from great peril.


End file.
